


Child of Arda

by DJSparkles



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: A little different, AU, F/M, Not a Mary Sue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-08 10:11:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7753642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DJSparkles/pseuds/DJSparkles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the Fellowship in peril, Arda sends aid in the form of an odd visitor to Rivendell. Will she be enough to turn the tide, should the Fellowship fail? ALTERNATE UNIVERSE WARNING!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another of my completed stories... will be updating as I'm able.

**Chapter One**

 

Amareth McClellan checked her kit carefully. The patrol she was assigned to that afternoon would need her undivided attention; this was dangerous territory and she wanted a full kit in case they were ambushed.

 

She was mostly ornamentation on these patrols any more; these men where highly trained and very, very adept at keeping a low profile. They had to be. This was a highly contested area, not secured, and the insurgents were known to hit the patrols whenever they could. But the fact remained, they didn’t go out without a medic, and she was the best there was. Most of the casualties she tended at least made it to the aid stations.

 

The patrol units had a pool of medics to choose from; Amareth hadn’t had much downtime in two weeks. She was a bit on the fatigued side, but she wouldn’t turn work down when the Marines asked for her. They deserved the best she could give them and would never receive less.

 

“Hey, Doc, saddle up!” a voice called from nearby and she scurried out the door, everything in place and ready. Hopefully she’d have no need for it.

 

***

 

Three hours later, she was listening to the shrill whine of the bullets whizzing over her head and the thump of heavy rounds landing nearby as she held the sergeant’s leg together with sheer will. She heard the panicked voice calling for air support, heard the sounds of the other men trying to return fire, the screams of the wounded, and then she was too busy to hear anything.

 

She got the wound wrapped and pressure-bandaged and made her way among them, wriggling across the hard-packed dirt, packing wounds and sewing what she could, patching them up enough to hold them together back to the aid stations. Then everything slowed down to a crawl as the planes streaked overhead, laying down suppressing fire and allowed them to grab the wounded and run.

 

She was right with them until she heard another voice screaming nearby. She dropped aside, ignoring the cries from her erstwhile unit to leave the enemy for his own to contend with. She couldn’t do that. She had a duty to heal where there was hurt; it was such a fundamental part of her that she couldn’t ignore it even if she wanted to.

 

She knelt beside the wounded man and gave him a quick once-over, her hands immediately going for the necessary items in her kit. A screeching roar nearby warned her and she threw herself flat over her patient to protect him from the fallout from the resulting damage.

 

Earth showered over them both, and then there was silence. The jets had retreated into the distance, and her unit wasn’t in sight. They had taken cover; prudent, necessary, and it made her skin crawl. The silence was deafening, and not a little disquieting. She knew the Marines wouldn’t desert her; it wasn’t their way. No one got left behind, ever. But the utter stillness of the scene was disturbing.

 

She rose; the man hade stopped breathing while she covered him and a quick check gave her the explanation; the wounds he had received had allowed him to bleed out before she could stop them all. She raised her head again and looked around, hoping the fighting had broken; but surely if it had, the Marines would have come out for her?

 

Nothing moved, nothing made a sound. She fought the urge to simply stand up and take a better look; she didn’t want her head shot off. But after several minutes, she at least expected the Marines would have secured the area. She stood up and grabbed her pack, hoisting it to her shoulder and setting off down the road. Where were they?

 

No answer to her muted calls. Not a sound was audible in the vicinity, nor was there anything moving within sight. She felt her skin crawling again and fought the sensation, knowing that if she yielded to it, she would panic. It was almost claustrophobic, which was a laugh since she was in the middle of the desert with open space around her for miles.

 

She shrugged mentally and began to slog for home. If the Marines met her on the way, great. If they didn’t, she was going to have them for lunch when she found them. No big deal.

 

A shout made her spin and dive for the dirt. Apparently the enemy wasn’t as far gone as she’d hoped; another bullet whizzed past her ear and she crawled toward the nearest shelter. It was only a dusty outcropping of rock, but it would have to do. Silently she offered thanks for the thing; it never hurt to thank Mother Earth for what you used. Then the bullets began flying in earnest again and she dropped behind the rock, forgetting most everything but the urge to survive.

 

A spattering of Arabic reached her ears and she drew farther down next to her rock, wishing those bloody Marines would show their asses again and get her out of this. Then she brightened slightly when she heard returning fire. She stuck her head up just enough to just enough to have another look around. Yup, there they were, her boys, no, men, and they were coming to get her out of this. She could almost taste her freedom and fought the urge to stand up and scream her defiance at the enemy.

 

Instead, she began wiggling through the dust and sand toward her Marines, keeping herself as low to the ground as she could, trying to be one with the earth and not managing too well. She was well aware that if the enemy sighted her again, she was dead; but she was banking on the Marines holding their attention long enough for her to rejoin them and head for home.

 

She might as well have been wishing on starlight. She had made it almost all the way to them, her Marines, her boys, before the enemy sighted her again, but it didn’t matter. As one of the men scooped her up to run, the first hit made itself felt in the calf of her right leg and she stumbled. She was quickly moved into a fireman’s carry and they were running for home, but it wasn’t enough of a start.

 

She saw the enemy soldier aim again, saw him putting the pull on the trigger that would end her life, even saw the flash as the bullet left the muzzle of the gun. But the pain when it hit was like nothing she had ever experienced. She gave a long, lingering wail of anguish, and then there was darkness.

 

****

 

The rider dismounted quickly when he saw the limp figure in the grass and moved closer. The creature seemed to be a human woman, but the garments she wore were completely unfamiliar to him. Then he saw the blood and forgot everything else.

 

A quick check revealed two very confusing wounds. The first, in her leg, would have slowed her down but wasn’t in itself life threatening. But the one in her back, that was in need of immediate attention or she would soon be dead. Time enough later to find out what caused them. Right now, he needed to stop the bleeding and begin the healing process.

 

He called forth his healing magic and poured it toward her, only to draw back in confusion when he touched something he quite unexpected. There was something around this woman, something he could not immediately recognize, and it troubled him. Something he had touched before… but it still eluded him and he pushed it firmly to the back of his mind as he summoned his healing spells once more.

 

He had no doubt that others would arrive soon to help him. His horse would have returned to the stables quickly and when it was found riderless there would be a search mounted. Until then, he would try to keep this woman alive with all the power he held if necessary.

 

He felt the magic of his valley rallying to help him, to protect him and the woman while he worked. And yet… there was a subtle difference this time, as though the focus had shifted slightly more into her defense than his. Something was definitely not right here; those magics had worked through life-ages of the world; he had placed them here himself with an eye to protect his people, those under his protection, both human and Elf.

 

That had not happened in millennia. Not since… cautiously he regarded the woman once more. Was it possible? Was she an Earth Child? They had not been seen since the First Age! Yet the conclusion seemed clear. All the evidence pointed in that direction. The turning of his protective magic to focus on her, the thin gossamer shield of energy now surrounding her, they all pointed to one thing. This was one of the children of the very earth, one of the elemental spirits of the world. That she appeared human was puzzling to him; most appeared in their native forms. Yet she was drawing strength from the very earth she lay upon, he could see it. Her wounds were visibly healing, albeit much more slowly than he would have liked.

 

None of his musing was helping her. He again focused on the task at hand and assisted her as he could. He knew now that he could not move her from this place; to move her would be to break the fragile thread she had woven from the earth and perhaps reopen her wounds. No, he would have to remain with her here.

 

The sound of hoof beats reached his sensitive hearing and he took in a deep breath. Aid had arrived quite quickly. He gave a silent thanks to the efficiency of his staff. No doubt Erestor had roused the entire valley when his horse had returned unattended. He rose to meet the rider.

 

Glorfindel allowed his mount to prance into the glade and gave an arch glance to his lord. “If you had intended on leaving your horse and walking through the valley, Lord Elrond, I wish you had informed your seneschal,” he remarked dryly. “Erestor was quite unnerved when Elanor returned alone.”

 

“It was unexpected,” Elrond returned in kind. He knew Glorfindel was not taking him to task; he also knew that Erestor would upon his return to the Last Homely House. “I will be remaining here for some time. You may tell Erestor to send provisions and my healing herbs. This woman is in need of aid and I dare not move her from here.”

 

Glorfindel raised a golden brow, but said nothing for a long moment. “Another Edain for you to mother, Elrond? Do you never tire of them?” Though his voice was laced with good humor, there was some dismay as well. Elrond had sent the last one only this morning, the Dunadan he called Aragorn, on an impossible quest. Impossible, yet necessary, Glorfindel reminded himself, and it wasn’t as if Elrond had wanted to. He had nurtured Aragorn, hidden him from the evil that had sought his death since his birth, in preparation for this moment, and he knew that Elrond loved the Man as his own son. He knew Elrond was still nursing the heartache of knowing he had likely sent him to his death.

 

Elrond merely met the Balrog Slayer’s gaze evenly. “She is not what she seems, mellon nin,” he said softly. “She is an elemental, a child of the earth.”

 

Glorfindel stifled a gasp. Surely not! The elementals were ancient, more so even than the Elves. None had been seen in millennia; they had nearly fallen into the realm of legend and myth. Only the Elves truly remembered them now, and those memories were growing dim, despite the Elven tendency to near-perfect recall. And the earth spirits were the most rare of all. “I will return with your requirements, then, and remain with you until she is able to travel. You cannot remain out here unguarded, despite being in the valley. There are shadows walking the world now that would make easy work of your protections, my lord.”

 

“Not so easy as you believe, but the company would be welcome. I doubt she is able to speak for several days yet. She was at death’s door when I came upon her. That much damage takes time to heal, regardless of how it is done.”

 

 


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU.
> 
> Thanks to my lovely hive sisters...

**Chapter Two**

 

Amareth came slowly back to consciousness and opened her eyes, staring at the trees in disorientation. Where was she? This most certainly wasn’t the desert. Had she died, was this the afterlife? Had she somehow joined the spirits of her mother’s people, despite her ignorance of their culture? It didn’t seem anything like the Heaven her father had constantly told her about.

 

Things slowly began to register in her mind. First, it was cooler than she had thought, but not uncomfortably so. Next, that she was covered with some form of blanket, and that she was totally naked underneath it. A blush suffused her cheeks and she sat up, careful to keep the blanket in place, and cast a glance around her to identify whoever it was that had taken her clothes.

 

Two men were nearby, engaged in low conversation. They turned at the sound of her discreet cough and the dark-haired one rose to come to her.

 

She watched him carefully. What had he done to her while she was out? Healed her up, it seemed, though she worried what else might have happened.

 

“It is good to see you awake,” he said clearly, though his accent fell strangely on her ears. “How do you feel?”

 

“Confused,” she answered honestly. She seemed to understand that these two meant her no harm, though she didn’t know why she knew it. Gut instinct had protected her before, though, so she went with the feeling. “This isn’t the desert. How did I get here? And where are my clothes?”

 

“I found you here, badly injured,” he explained quietly as he knelt beside her. “You are from the desert?” Elrond considered quickly. She had the look of some of the southern people, her skin the color of honey, her hair the darkest pure black; but she spoke curiously, slurring her words together until they were almost unrecognizable. He had never heard such speech.

 

“No, but that’s where I was when I was shot.” Amareth was having a hard time focusing her mind. His words were slow and strangely accented as well, but she understood them. “How did I get here?”

 

“I do not know.” Elrond put a hand out to her. “May I check your wounds?” he asked softly. She had been shot? How had she managed to remove the arrow from the wound on her back? He would have thought it unreachable.

 

“Shot. You know. With a gun.” She subsided and allowed him to run gentle hands across her back. It was a light touch, yet something stirred restlessly just under the surface. It was like nothing she had ever felt and she forced herself not to cringe away; there was nothing sensual about it, but there was still a tingle where his fingers traced, almost like a sort of mild electrical jolt.

 

“It is healing well. You should be ready to travel, my lady. I will take you to my home and we will talk more.” Elrond rose and Glorfindel brought a saddle pack to them. “You will find clothing inside; wear what you wish.” Then he and Glorfindel moved a polite distance away and pointedly turned their backs in her direction.

 

Amareth scowled before rummaging through the bag. Gowns, gowns… no pants. Damn. Oh well, she’d have to make the best of it. She slipped one of the gowns over her head and adjusted it a bit. She hated dresses. “All right, I’m decent,” she said softly. Then something else hit her.

 

Both men had pointed ears.

 

How was that possible? Just where in the Mother’s name was she? Pointed ears were for fairy tales and science fiction. Elves didn’t exist, neither did Vulcans. Had she somehow survived the ambush and instead gone looney? Did she even now exist in a padded cell, or worse, on a hospital gurney with IV sedation? Had she lost her mind?

 

Elrond sensed her disquiet. “You are not mad,” he said softly. “Ease your mind. We will care for you, give you shelter, and help you along your way, no matter what path you wish to take. If you wish to remain, you may do so.”

 

She nodded silently and took a deep breath…

 

…and it was as though the forest came alive for her. She felt the life in the trees, in the grass under her feet, in the air around her. The sensation was overwhelming. And yet, she felt strength and balance returning to her, and the unease began to leave her. A feeling of contentment settled around her and she felt at peace for the first time in her waking memory.

 

A sense of power rose within her, filling her entire being with that same peace and making her body thrum like a live wire. Then it subsided quickly, leaving her feeling whole and full of life. And somehow she knew that she could call upon that power when she wished. The thought frightened her. First it was Elves… now this. What had happened to her, what had she become?

 

Firmly she took hold of her wayward musings. First things first. Once one eliminated the impossible, whatever was left, however improbable, must be the truth. It was impossible that she had died; she was still drawing breath, her heart was beating, she could feel the whisper of air against her face and the texture of the grass under her feet. So, she was alive. What next?

 

Somehow she had been called to this place, or sent, or something. She needed to find out where she was, and why she was here. She should, by all she knew about gunshot wounds and medicine, have been dead mere minutes after the shot had hit. She knew it had been a solid, serious hit. The pain had been excruciating and she couldn’t breathe within seconds. So, if she had lived, something or someone had intervened and brought her here.

 

She came back from her wayward thoughts with a start when the “Elf” lightly touched her arm. It was a simple brush of his fingers, no more, but it burned like flame against her skin before subsiding. She held his gaze for a long moment, uncertainty again rearing its ugly head and forcing her off balance.

 

He nodded slowly, as though in response to something she had said, though her lips had not moved. “You feel the life of the world,” he said softly, his dark eyes never leaving hers. “I understand it can become quite… powerful.”

 

She nodded again. “I don’t know who you are, where I am, why I’m here, or even why I’m still alive,” she began. Her frustration had reached the breaking point and she wanted some answers. “Start talking, or I’m going to stop playing nice.”

 

Elrond raised a delicate brow in her direction, but he supposed she was rather disoriented. “Forgive me, my lady,” he answered with dignity. “I am Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, and my companion is Glorfindel. I found you here some days ago, wounded nearly unto death, and have since remained to help you heal. As for how you arrived in this place, I, too, would like an answer to the riddle. Rivendell is protected by powerful magic; magic you should not have been able to penetrate without assistance from one of my people.” He regarded her steadily. “Do not think I consider you an enemy. But there are questions here that must be answered before we might truly help you on your path.” He turned to Glorfindel as the other led the horses forward. “Can you ride? I must return.”

 

Amareth raised her eyes to the horses, apprehension trilling down her spine. She had almost no experience with animals, and certainly nothing larger than a dog. “I’ve never ridden,” she said softly. Her fear was threatening to get the better of her and she squashed it ruthlessly. She reached into herself, into that core of power she had only just discovered, and drew slightly on it to steady herself.

 

“Then we will go slowly, lady.” Glorfindel extended his hand to her. “Come, you may ride with me. Carnil will allow no harm to come to you.” Nor would he allow harm to come to his lord. They knew nothing about this woman, be she elemental or not. No, he had not been reborn to this existence to take reckless chances with Lord Elrond’s life. Until they had answers to the questions she presented, he would watch her closely.

 

 


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU. Hope y'all are enjoying this.

**Chapter Three**

 

The ride itself proved most enlightening for Amareth, though it also seemed that as each question was answered, another three rose to take its place. She was acutely aware of Glorfindel’s arms around her, steadying her, and wished she wasn’t. The energy she could feel in him disturbed her in some really unfamiliar ways. Not unpleasant, exactly, but definitely unnerving.

 

The three of them had chatted quite amiably during the ride. It seemed Elrond was a powerful Elf Lord, very studious and had a reputation as a world class healer. Once she heard that, it was easy to talk to him; she had so many questions about where she was and how things were different here, there weren’t going to be enough hours in the day for her to ask them all. But through everything, he maintained a distance, an aloofness she didn’t understand. He wasn’t unkind to her, but he seemed rather cool for someone who had spent as much time in her company as he apparently had.

 

Glorfindel, on the other hand, was quite willing to discourse on whatever she asked about that wasn’t related to healing. He was most interested in what she had to say about the ambush, and she filed that away for future reference. He seemed to be the soldier of the two, though she had no doubts that Elrond could hold his own in a fight. She turned her attention back to Glorfindel quickly as he asked another question.

 

“A gun?” she asked incredulously. “A gun is a weapon. It shoots bullets. Hard projectiles made of metal.” A thought occurred to her and she winced. “I don’t suppose you have anything like that, do you?”

 

“No, nothing. Have you no bows, no spears? No swords?” The disbelief in his voice was palpable and Amareth gritted her teeth against a sharp retort. “These guns must be quite deadly over distance.” The distaste in his voice was thick. “There is no honor in murder. These guns, they might be more efficient ways to kill, but there is no skill, no honor in killing someone who cannot even see your face.”

 

Amareth heard the censure in his tone and forced herself not to rise to the bait. “Is it murder to defend your home, your people, from those who would take them from you?” she asked caustically. “Sometimes it is necessary to find more efficient ways to kill, if only to preserve the freedoms of others.” She felt him stiffen against her back and knew he didn’t agree. “If men came here, with the intent of taking what you have, of killing your families while they slept, of forcing you to live by *their* traditions and laws, wouldn’t you want to drive them away by any means necessary? Wouldn’t you use any method available to destroy them before they could destroy you?”

 

Glorfindel didn’t reply right away and she was afraid she had pushed him too far. Then he relaxed again and she released the breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. “It is as you say,” he replied softly. “Honor and valor are our ways; but survival sometimes outweighs those traits.” He sounded sad and she felt a frisson of energy play across her skin. Then he brightened as he pointed ahead of them slightly, to where Elrond had urged his mount across a narrow stone bridge. “The bridge over the Bruinen,” he remarked. “We are nearly home.”

 

Amareth stiffened and tried to calm herself. It seemed awfully unstable, and the water rushing underneath seemed very loud and very strong. She twined her hands into Carnil’s mane to get a better grip, as if she could hold herself aboard if the bridge collapsed. Glorfindel laughed softly and tightened his grip about her waist and whispered reassuringly, words she didn’t understand, soft Elvish phrases that nonetheless seemed to lessen her anxiety a bit.

 

A glance over the side of the bridge steadied her a bit more and she closed her eyes, following some inner voice that whispered to her. The energy current she had so recently found stirred again and she touched it lightly, willing it to quiet, to subside slightly, and then she opened her eyes.

 

The river had settled into a less rapid pace and looked far less fearsome to her eyes, which widened in surprise. The water itself seemed to shimmer, to have an extra sheen that was somehow more than just the light reflected from the surface. The bridge, as well, glowed with an inner light and she gasped in consternation. “What… what’s happened to me, what is this?” she whispered, almost panicked.

 

“Have you no magic in your world?” Glorfindel asked softly as he drew up next to Elrond. He dismounted first, and lifted her down easily to set her on her feet. Elrond gestured her forward and she went to stand beside him, a bit unnerved by the number of people who had gathered to welcome their lord home.

 

She did her best to smile and look gracious as she was introduced to the seneschal, Erestor, but she knew it was an act. She had to be pretty grubby and she had no idea how she was supposed to behave; she felt like the country mouse come to the big city. Still, she managed a creditable curtsey for him.

 

“Erestor will see you housed properly within Imladris,” Elrond was saying quietly and she nodded. “You are free to roam, to explore; we have no secrets here. We will begin on the morrow to find why you have been brought to us at this time.” He nodded politely and stepped away, and she turned once more to Erestor.

 

Erestor took her to a large room, furnished most invitingly. But it was the bath that drew her delighted attention. She listened carefully while Erestor explained she would have a maidservant to help her, and that she was free to roam about as Lord Elrond had said, but her mouth was almost watering at the thought of the bath. She knew she was as clean as sponging could make her; and she was used to being dirty; after all, she was a Marine. Dirt came with the territory. But to be totally clean… the thought was exhilarating.

 

She dragged her attention back to Erestor reluctantly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear that last part.”

 

He smiled slightly at her. “You may do as you wish; you are an honored guest. There is always food and drink available in the Hall, and there will be stories in the Hall of Fire in the evening, if you wish to join us. I will leave you now to freshen up.” He hadn’t missed the wistful way she had eyed the bath.

 

“Thank you.” She barely waited until he was gone before lunging at the tub. A moment’s careful study showed her how to work the unfamiliar taps and she filled it quickly, shrugged off the gown and sank gratefully into the steaming water. Oh, it was heaven! She felt her weary body begin to relax and began to doze lightly.

 

*****

 

“I do not know what to make of her,” Elrond was saying to Glorfindel as Erestor slipped into his study. “Certainly she is a most unexpected complication. But I feel no sense of evil from her, no threat. I do not believe her to be an enemy.”

 

“It is unsettling that you had no foresight of her arrival,” Glorfindel answered smoothly. “Yet, I perceive no threat from her, either. She could be a great asset, should we need to defend ourselves here. The power she wields, Valar, she calmed the Bruinen with but a thought! All the more frightening by the fact that she did not realize the deed until it was done.” He glanced over to Erestor, wondering what the seneschal had discovered about the lady.

 

“I have set Tinueth as her maid,” Erestor said quietly. “She is most suited to subtle observation. We will know soon enough if this woman means us harm. Yet I must agree, I do not think she does.” A troubled frown crossed his face. “Though why she has come to us at this time is a matter for investigation.”

 

“Indeed.” Elrond was thoughtful. “The Quest must not fail. There have been other portents of late that evil is seeking the Ring, perhaps from within the Fellowship itself.” The realization was bitter to him. He had not forgotten Boromir’s obsession with the Ring; he was counting on Aragorn to keep the Gondorian under control. The notion that perhaps his foster son was unequal to the task was galling; but he had no foresight of the outcome of the Quest. Never before had his foresight failed him, and he was deeply concerned. “Whether we should trust her or not, I do not yet know. We will watch, and we will see. Glorfindel, your opinion of our wanderer?”

 

“I believe she is very powerful, and yet ignorant of that power. Her reaction when she calmed the Bruinen…” He shook his head. “She was near terrified by the idea that she had done it. I do not believe she knows what she is, or what she is capable of. She seems completely ignorant of magic, but she does have a warrior’s mind. And she claims to have knowledge of healing as well.” He gave careful thought to their conversation during the ride. “Intelligent, competent, capable of great courage; all these things I would say of her. And yet… there is something more. Something I cannot explain, a sense of…” He again shook his head. “I cannot put it into words, but I do not believe she means us harm. Time will tell.”

 

“And that we have precious little of,” Elrond replied firmly. “Erestor, bring anything Tithuen learns to me, no matter how trivial it seems. Glorfindel, I will leave it to you to discover the extent of her training as a warrior. I myself will be researching the elementals to see what we must be wary of.”

 

Both Elves nodded and departed, leaving Elrond to puzzle over their unexpected guest. His memory of the Elementals was vague. He had been very young, a mere Elfling in the service of Gil-galad when he had first heard of them, and he had never seen one. They had been ancient even then, more myth than reality. He must consult his library and discover what he could of them.

 


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all are still enjoying!

Amareth finally decided she’d better get out of the tub before she turned into a complete prune and rose, looking about for a towel. But before she could take a step, a warm fluffy towel was wrapped around her and she started in surprise. “Forgive me, my lady,” a soft voice murmured behind her. “I am Tithuen, your maid. I meant not to frighten you.”

 

Amareth relaxed slightly, although she still wasn’t too comfortable. “Nothing to forgive,” she replied quickly. “I’m just not used to servants. I didn’t have any, none of us did.” She gave a thought to her friends, her fellow Marines, and gave a shudder at the image of their reaction to such cosseting. “We Marines are pretty self-sufficient.”

 

Tithuen briskly toweled her dry anyway and tsked good-naturedly. “Then this will be a pleasant change for you,” she remarked dryly as she settled a gown quickly over Amareth and did up the lacings. “Lord Erestor says that your things will be returned to you as soon as they are cleaned. Now, I am at your service, Lady Amareth. What would you wish to do first?”

 

“Um…” Amareth pondered the question for all of about two seconds. “Food, I think, then maybe… I’m not used to having much free time. What would you suggest?”

 

“Lord Elrond considers you an honored guest, so we will do as you wish,” was the calm reply. “If I might suggest, a walk in the gardens would be restful. Perhaps it would ease your mind, as it does mine.”

 

“That sounds good. But I think food is the first order of business.” Amareth stifled a groan as her stomach rumbled noisily. “Did Lord Elrond tell you how long I was unconscious?” she asked idly as she followed the slender Elf along a passageway to the Hall. She hadn’t missed the slight emphasis Tithuen had placed on the pronoun and would address him accordingly.

 

The smells of food reached her and she hurried her step a bit. A few moments later, she found herself seated at a table with Tithuen bringing her food; this wouldn’t do at all. It would be far too easy for her to get used to the decadence having a personal servant seemed to promote. Unless… she gave a look around. Servants were caring for all of the occupants of the Hall. She didn’t want to make a scene by refusing to do things their way, so she kept silent.

 

Part of her training had been to adapt to circumstances. She would adapt to this, she had to. Adaptation was crucial to survival, and she was a survivor. She would, however have to find a way to do her physical training. She wasn’t about to let her condition deteriorate under any circumstances; and it always paid to be prepared for a fight. She wouldn’t, *couldn’t* let that slide.

 

A merry laugh on her left surprised her and she turned in time to see Glorfindel settle himself next to her. “Ah, it is good to see you about, Lady Amareth,” he said genially. “I half feared you would keep to your rooms and deprive us of your beauty.”

 

She blushed scarlet and he laughed again. “I see you are unused to flattery,” he remarked as he accepted a goblet of wine from Tithuen. “Very well, I will restrain myself. Have you plans for the afternoon, or perhaps I could steal you away?”

 

“I only just got here,” she found herself explaining with a laugh of her own. “Tithuen and I were going to walk in the gardens once I finished eating. Want to join us?”

 

Glorfindel gave another of those low chuckles. “Truthfully, I would enjoy that very much. I fear, however, my purpose was a bit more dutiful.” He watched her carefully. “What I would like, if it pleases you, is to learn more of your world, of how your warriors fight. Will you indulge my curiosity?”

 

“If you’ll answer my questions, too,” Amareth fired back smoothly. She had eaten her fill, finally. She wasn’t used to the quality of this food; it was rich, but not heavy. “Lord I’ve eaten enough for about three days. I need to work some of this off.”

 

“Then let us adjourn to the practice arena,” Glorfindel replied as he nodded to Tithuen. “I will take care with your lady, Tithuen, fear not. Well, then, shall we?” He offered her his arm.

 

She took it, again feeling her face color at the smoothness of his conversation. She wasn’t at all sure she should be alone with him; and then she shook herself mentally. He wasn’t interested in her, per se; he wanted to pump her for information. Well, she wasn’t above doing the same. She needed to know how she got here, what had happened to her, and why she was here.

 

She had already placed Glorfindel fairly high in the food chain here; he was on easy terms with Elrond, who was the head cheese. Made sense for him to be of high rank himself, though it certainly hadn’t been mentioned. She would need to watch her step with him. He was a smooth talker, and that voice of his sent chills up her spine. She had to be careful not to be taken in by his flirtatious ways and sweet words.

 

The walk was more than pleasant. The gardens were between them and the arena, so they made a pass through them on the way, and Amareth was delighted with the beauty of the flowers, again feeling that subtle pull of energy. She could feel the life around her, all of it, and it was a heady feeling. She reveled in it for only a moment before resolutely closing the connection between them. Again, it was not a conscious decision to do so. Some subconscious sense of self-preservation had kicked in to protect her.

 

The sound of sword-play reached her ears, a solid sound of metal ringing upon metal, and Glorfindel ushered her through the entryway into the arena. She had to squash the urge to stand and gawk at the sight before her; two Elven males were sparring, and there was not a markable difference between them that she could see. Twins. She didn’t know Elves could be twins. Heh, that was a laugh. Before that morning, she hadn’t even known Elves existed, much less given thought to whether or not they could have twins.

 

One of the twins looked over at Glorfindel and lowered his weapon. “Mae govannen, Glorfindel! Who have you brought to us?”

 

His twin brought his sword down in a savage arc, and Amareth cried out as the flat of it rapped the top of the other’s head smartly. “You should know better than to be distracted, Elladan,” he chided, none too gently. “Even if she is pretty. I could have killed you, if I wanted.” He turned to Amareth, grinning. “Welcome, Lady, to Rivendell. I am Elrohir, and my forgetful twin is Elladan.”

 

“This is Lady Amareth,” Glorfindel said quickly as he stifled a smirk. The twins worked together well, and always had, and he could count on them to train each other as well as he could. However, Elrohir was right; Elladan should not have allowed himself to be distracted. “Elladan, what were you thinking? I have taught you better than that. Or do you need some refresher courses with me?” There was a glint in his eye that spoke volumes to the younger Elf.

 

Elladan squirmed under the Balrog Slayer’s gaze. It had been a rank beginner’s mistake, and he knew it. “Forgive me. It won’t happen again.”

 

“Correct. Take the patrol to the south, Elladan, and keep a watchful eye on the situation there. Return in seven days and report.”

 

Elladan nodded crisply and took his leave, his step heavy. Amareth watched him go, wondering at the harsh treatment and then understanding. Glorfindel was disciplining the younger Elf in a way that would stay with him. She thought he was right; he would not make that particular mistake again. “I’m pleased to meet you, Elrohir,” she remarked into the ensuing silence.

 

Elrohir took her hand and kissed it lightly, a twinkle in his dark eyes. “He’s been too cocky by half for several days, my lady, and that was just the thing he needed to take the edge off. I thank you for that. What brings you to Rivendell? Perhaps I might be of assistance.”

 

Amareth found herself blushing yet again. “Maybe another time,” she said firmly. “Right now Glorfindel has dibs on my time. Try me later.” She grinned for Glorfindel. “You wanted to hear about my people, learn about how we fight? Ready to take some lumps?”

 

Glorfindel nodded. He wasn’t exactly certain what her words meant, but she obviously meant to spar. “Your choice of weapon, my lady, since you are a guest.” He bowed to her.

 

She bowed back as Elrohir handed her some leathers and stepped away. She made quick work of the change in a shadowy corner and returned to take up a fighting stance. “One of the first things they teach you in the Marine Corps is hand-to-hand fighting. I didn’t hold the highest ranking in martial arts, but it was up there.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “Ready?”

 

Glorfindel nodded once, his eyes never leaving hers. He dodged to one side quickly as she came at him, all hands and flying feet, and managed to get one good strike in. She grunted and danced backward, her eyes glinting dangerously.

 

Damn but he was fast! Amareth growled at herself for missing the action that would have warned her. She would have to try harder. She went on the attack again, and this time she spotted the minute signal she had missed before. She managed to block his strike, but still couldn’t land her own. He was just too fast, too agile for her to hit. She was beginning to get annoyed. Again she pressed the attack, and again he danced out of her reach, without her landing a strike. If he kept it up, this would be a long match. Oh, well, it would give her the workout she needed.

 

Unfortunately, he seemed to know all the same moves she’d been taught. And he wasn’t holding back any longer, either. He had turned the tables on her as neat as could be and she was hard pressed to keep him from scoring on her. Then she forgot to even think as she worked to keep his hands away. He was fast, he was agile, he was graceful, and she was losing. She could feel it.

 

Time to change tactics. She danced back, eyeing him carefully, and deliberately left him an opening to attack. He did so…

 

… but the outcome wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind. He scored another hit, a blow to her stomach that she barely managed to deflect. The impact rocked her onto her heels and she quickly stepped into a spin, kicking out, only to have him grasp her ankle and flip her over.

 

She barely managed to recover, forcing the spin under her control and still managing to land on her feet. She thought she detected a note of respect in his eyes for the move but she wasn’t given time to analyze it. She went on the defensive again, but too late.

 

The blow stopped just short of her throat and she gulped. He had gotten so far inside her guard so quickly that if he’d meant to, he could have killed her. And there was no way to deflect it, not from her current position. She met his eyes and nodded as she stepped away. “You win this round,” she said firmly. “You’re good, you’re really good.”

 

Glorfindel nodded as well as he also stepped back, putting some distance between them. “You have an admirable amount of strength, for a mortal,” he replied graciously. “That blow would have sent most men to their knees.”

 

“Practice.” She grinned at him. “Something I do every day, I practice. Exercise, stay in condition. Think that’ll be a problem here?”

 

He barely considered her request. “No, it should not be. All warriors have the right to practice their art, especially in these times.” He looked around and raised that brow at her once more. “It seems we have drawn quite an audience,” he said softly.

 

Amareth turned to the rail also and felt herself color. There were a *lot* of watchers. Elrohir detached himself and came to them, his face a study in concern.

 

“Are you hurt, my lady?” he asked quietly. “That was quite a hit.” He was thinking of the bruises he had suffered from training with Glorfindel, and she didn’t have the advantage of an Elf’s strength to draw on. He was quite prepared to take on his teacher if she was; Glorfindel should have known better than to use his full strength on a mortal.

 

“Only my pride, Elrohir, only my pride,” she replied with a tiny laugh. “It’s been a long time since anyone scored on me so well, or so quickly. I’ll take the bruises to know what to look for next time.”

 

She looked down at the leathers when Glorfindel offered her his arm again and shrugged. She was certainly more comfortable in them than in that wretched gown. She gave Elrohir another smile and took the offered arm. “I take it this means it’s time to go back?” she asked him quietly.

 

“Indeed, it is getting late. Perhaps you would like to visit the Hall of Fire? There are always stories being told, and music.” His voice was like velvet, she told herself, thick, luxurious velvet, and she shook her head to dispel the effect it was having on her.

 

“No, I think maybe I should go back to my room,” she said suddenly. “I think I’ve done enough for one day.” A jaw-popping yawn escaped before she could stifle it and she hoped he hadn’t noticed.

 

He had. He stopped on the path, turning her to face him, his eyes searching her face. “Perhaps you are right,” he said softly. “Your wounds are not yet healed, and this was more perhaps than you should have indulged in. Do they pain you, should I fetch Lord Elrond?”

 

His guilt was almost palpable and she didn’t think twice. She placed her hand palm down on his chest. “I’m not hurt, I promise. I’m just very, very tired. Please, don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” She didn’t want him feeling guilty about their sparring match; after all, she’d started it.

 

He didn’t argue the point, but he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the house, settling her on the chaise in her room as gently as though he were handling spun glass, and settled next to her. “You will tell me if you require a healer,” he said bluntly. “I am responsible for the warriors here; which would make me responsible for your well-being as well.” He gave her a small smile. “Tomorrow, if you are able for it, I will begin to teach you the sword. We will go slowly; but you must learn. These are unsettled times.” Again he shied away from telling her the whole truth. He simply could not believe she was a threat; but the fact remained that he didn’t *know.* “All aid would be welcome.”

 

“Maybe that’s why I was brought here,” Amareth murmured sleepily as she lay down on the coverlet. “Got to be a reason, don’t know what it is…” Her voice trailed off as she fell into slumber.

 

Glorfindel regarded her sleeping form for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he covered her with a sheet and left the room. He needed to talk to his lord.

 


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the hive!

Elrond regarded Glorfindel seriously. “You perceive no threat from her?”

 

“None. There is no deceit in her. She fights as a warrior fights, with honor and courage. She could have taken *many* unfair advantages, and failed to do so. They simply did not occur to her.” Glorfindel met Elrond’s gaze steadily. “She has been discreet almost to the point of silence about her people and her world, and yet she has not refused to answer any question put to her. And she has adapted well to our ways and traditions, has respected them as she would respect her own. This says much of her honesty to me.”

 

“Tithuen reports much the same to me,” Erestor inserted in his quiet way. “She has been respectful and kind to all who speak to her, and gracious as well. Tithuen is very good at spotting deception, and she has seen none.”

 

Elrond was silent for a long moment. Finally he spoke, choosing his words carefully. “In my studies, I have found little reference to the Elementals. That this woman has such power and yet seems unaware of it is disturbing to me. It is written that the Elementals were raised from birth with the knowledge of how to control their abilities, and yet she does not seem to even have a conscious awareness of them. Also, the Elementals were ancient when we came to these shores, and yet she is very young, even for a mortal. It is puzzling.”

 

He rose and stepped across to a window, gazing out into the night. “I had no foresight of her arrival, indeed, she seems hidden from my gift,” he said slowly. “I cannot see into her future. It may be that she is simply a pawn in the greater struggle we all face. But we *must* be certain before a decision is made.”

 

Glorfindel shifted slightly. “There is another problem you should consider,” he said slowly as Elrond pivoted to face him. “I can no longer guarantee my objectivity where Amareth is concerned. I… am fond of her. I respect her as a warrior… and as a friend.”

 

Erestor swiveled to face Glorfindel as Elrond drew in a breath. “Then we must consider her a friend, unless she proves otherwise. I have always trusted your judgment, mellon-nin, and you have never disappointed me. You will teach her, then, our ways and weapons, that she may help us when the time comes.”

 

Glorfindel nodded and departed. Elrond then turned to Erestor. “This is a most unexpected development, and one I am not certain I care for,” he said simply. “Evil is being drawn to the Ring from without the Fellowship, and I fear from within. I had hoped to send word to them, a warning.”

 

“You know this?” Erestor questioned carefully. He knew what his lord needed. Elrond needed someone to make him question his foresight, to confirm what he had seen. He needed to talk, and Erestor would listen.

 

“I have not seen it. It is a feeling, nothing more, and a deduction based on the Ring’s power.” Elrond paused for a moment. “It is, as Gandalf has said, altogether evil. We all saw the reaction it had on Boromir. I fear that even now, the Ring is attempting to sway him.”

 

“There is nothing you can do now, my lord, without jeopardizing the quest.” Erestor was firm. “If you send a messenger, Sauron will know and all secrecy will be lost. The only hope of the Ring’s destruction is in secrecy. And perhaps things are not so dire as you fear, not yet. Perhaps Amareth’s coming is a counter to this, perhaps she is, in some way, a check on the Ring’s power over Boromir. And perhaps not; I fear only time will tell give us the answer, and time is in short supply.”

 

“I fear you are correct.” Elrond took another deep breath and paced again. “We must proceed on the assumption that Amareth is not a threat. Perhaps she is the answer we seek. Glorfindel will train her, if there is time.” He had a sense of urgency, as though time were short, but no clear foresight to work from. Disaster seemed to loom on the horizon, but he could not know what form it would take. “We will need every hand should the worst occur.”

 

Erestor nodded agreement. “Tithuen shall remain as her maid. If anything untoward *does* occur, we will know.” He rose to take his leave. “Fear not, my lord, you are as protected as we can keep you. No evil will touch you, so long as we live.”

 

Elrond remained in his study, considering. He still was not completely convinced that Amareth was harmless; nor was he certain that she was indeed an Elemental, though all the signs led to that conclusion. She had demonstrated power over both water and earth, which was unheard of. Each Elemental documented in his studies had control over only one of the elements; that she seemed able to master more than one was suspicious. And yet… there was no feeling of evil from her. He had been in close proximity to her for several days while she healed, and never in that time had he felt the presence of evil. Surely it would have manifested at least a faint trace while she had been senseless, if she had been sent by Sauron.

 

Perhaps more time spent in the girl’s company would ease his misgivings. He resolved to have her brought to him when she awoke, and they would talk.

 

*****

 

Amareth woke slowly, as she was seldom able to do, enjoying the gradual process until she finally opened her eyes. Damn, she had hoped the whole thing had been a dream, that she had somehow been hallucinating as a result of her wounds. Unfortunately, it appeared she hadn’t, so she rose to make do with another day in this place and try to find out why and how she had been brought here.

 

The sun was high in the sky and she groaned. She’d slept half the day, by the look of things. Not her way at all, though she supposed it was to be expected. The previous day had taken a lot out of her. And she felt much more rested.

 

She was struck by a sudden thought and stood, perplexed, half in and half out of her uniform, which had been returned to her sometime during the night. She was a Marine; she had been trained to be wary in strange places, to not relax her guard until she had been satisfied that she was completely safe, and then still she usually slept so lightly that a mouse scurrying across the floor should have awakened her. That she had slept so deeply and for so long confused her. She knew nothing about this place, how could she feel so secure, so safe?

 

She finished doing up her uniform, making certain everything was good to go. It wouldn’t do to appear sloppy, not at all. She debated putting a new spit shine on her boots, but decided against it, only in light of the fact that she wasn’t certain what she’d be doing that day. Glorfindel had said something about sword training.

 

A soft tap on the door facing alerted her and she spun, smiling when she realized that Tithuen must have been lurking about all morning waiting for her to get her lazy arse out of bed. “Morning,” she said quietly. “I don’t suppose there’s any food around?”

 

“I brought you a tray when I realized you were awake,” was the calm reply. The Elf set it on a nearby table and Amareth fought to keep from drooling over the scents emanating from it. “After you have broken your fast, Lord Elrond wishes your presence. I will take you to him when you are ready.”

 

Amareth nodded and started her meal, in full Marine mode. Which meant simply that she was finished in a matter of minutes instead of lingering over everything to savor it. Quickly she rose, wiped her mouth, grabbed her helmet, and indicated that Tithuen should lead the way while she finished chewing that last bite. It didn’t do to keep the higher-ups waiting, not ever.

 

She didn’t put on the helmet, though. She was still indoors; regs said you only covered your head out of doors. But she’d have it with her when she did go out. Her hair she twisted up into the normal braid as they walked and when they reached the study, she was as ready as she would have been at home. Tithuen knocked lightly and gestured her inside when Elrond answered.

 

She entered the room and crossed to meet the Elf Lord, her expression respectful. “You wanted to see me, sir?” she inquired politely. Military courtesy, that was the ticket. She was a visitor on foreign soil, she needed to respect their leaders. She remained upright, waiting for him to set the tone of the meeting.

 

Elrond raised that delicate eyebrow again, but it was tempered by a slight smile. “Please, be seated. This is not an interrogation, Amareth.”

 

She slid into the chair opposite his desk, still maintaining a respectful posture. “Of course, sir.” She was firmly back into her professional persona. A refuge, of sorts; it was a rigid code of behavior that would protect her from inadvertently insulting her host.

 

Elrond gazed at her a moment, assessing. She was completely different from when he had found her, and it disturbed him. She was obviously a warrior, right down to her boots. Of course, she had been gravely wounded when he had first seen her, and still recovering. Now she fairly radiated health and discipline. “I would speak with you of your world, if you have no objections. I realize we spoke on the journey here, but I find myself in need of answers I fear only you can provide.”

 

Amareth nodded. Obviously this was an informal meeting. She relaxed slightly; he patently meant her no harm, he was only curious. “Of course. What would you like to know? I’m afraid I won’t be a lot of help. I don’t know much more than what I’ve already told you.”

 

“Then we will begin again,” Elrond said patiently. “Please tell me everything you can.”

 

So she did. From the moment she left the tent until she had awakened in the valley, everything that had happened, her thoughts, her reactions, and the certainty that she had been about to die. “The last thing I remember before I woke up here was the sound of that shot. I’m a medic, a doctor. I know a fatal shot when I see one. That close to my heart or my spine, I should be dead. That’s all I know.”

 

“You are a healer?” Elrond made a mental note of that tidbit. Perhaps she could aid him in healing if necessary.

 

“Yes. I’m a trained Marine, but my duty was to help the wounded on the battlefield. I can fight, I can shoot, and I can hold my own when necessary, but my main focus is on the wounded.” She knew he had received word of yesterday’s sparring match, from the slight nod of his head when she mentioned she knew how to fight. “It was my job to see that they made it home alive.”

 

“And did you have much success with this?” The ways of her people were still a mystery to him. Warfare without direct contact was simply inconceivable, as it had been to Glorfindel. “Even with these guns you mention, it must have been difficult. Did you use much magic in their care?”

 

“Magic?” Amareth laughed softly. “First Glorfindel, now you. He asked me if there was no magic in my world, and I never answered him, but the answer is no. Blood, sweat, and hard work, a lot of study, but no magic. We did it the hard way, by studying the body and then putting the knowledge into use. And yes, it was difficult. When a body takes that much trauma, as in the case of a gunshot, you only have a specific amount of time to prevent, if not death, then loss of function in whatever was hit.” She wasn’t going to mention the rockets, or the bombs, or anything else they had that these people didn’t. She couldn’t reproduce them anyway; and it sounded to her like these people would find such weapons offensive and dishonorable. The thought bothered her; as a Marine, she held honor in very high regard. But when seen from their point of view, it was understandable.

 

“And you are well versed in these ways, the use of medicines without magic.” He was completely puzzled. She had the magic within her, he had touched it himself. She had such an elemental grasp of life energies…

 

Valar, that was it. She was no Elemental at all. She embodied the spirit of the world itself! The realization struck him hard though he kept himself composed. “And you are certain there was no magic involved in your treatment of these wounded warriors?” he questioned idly. She had no idea what she was, of that he was certain. Her use of power had been, until now, very vague and unfocused, as though unpracticed.

 

“None. I was raised believing that magic didn’t exist.” The thought bothered her somewhat; her mother had, until her death, insisted there was more to the world than her father preached. She believed in the old ways of her people, a people her father had sworn never to allow her to visit. He had done his best to erase her mother’s teachings… and failed miserably. Was there something more to her mother’s words after all? “But the men I tended had a higher survival rate than any other medic in the field, or so I was told,” she said slowly. “And a higher recovery rate. The unit I was with when I was shot considered me a kind of good luck charm. I was the most sought after medic in the entire battalion.”

 

“There must have been more to your healing than you realize,” Elrond replied firmly. “And you have no idea how you accomplished such a feat?”

 

“My mother told me something once,” she explained quietly, lost in her memories. “She said that she chose my name for a reason. I was to be Amareth, she said, because it meant ‘the world.’ She said it would bind me to the world and give me strength. I never understood that.”

 

“Amareth is, in Elvish, ‘Earth.’” Elrond watched her closely as he spoke. She seemed lost in her memories, which for some reason seemed painful to her. “Another translation could be ‘the world.’ It seems your mother knew more than she told you.” He paused a moment. “Those memories seem to cause you pain. I am sorry.”

 

“It’s only painful because my father and mother were from two very different cultures,” she replied softly. “My father was so stalwart in his beliefs, I never understood what brought him and my mother together. She gave up everything when she married him. But deep inside, she must have held onto her people’s ways; she told me about them when Father wasn’t around. She told me about the life spirits, the kachina. They were the spirits of life, able to heal, to give life to the world.” She gave Elrond a look that spoke plainly of her confusion. “My father hated the name Mother gave me; he always called me by my middle name. He wanted nothing to do with what he considered her heathen beliefs.”

 

Elrond almost closed his eyes at the pain in her voice. That her father could have been so cruel to her seemed beyond belief; yet the evidence was before him. Her distress was almost visible to him. “Forgive me for causing you such pain,” he said softly. “That was never my intent.”

 

“I’m okay,” she replied as she got herself under control. She’d never had this intense a reaction to her upbringing, and certainly not in front of a near stranger. But his kindness and hospitality had been genuine, the first genuine emotion she had ever received from anyone in her life, to be honest. Except from her mother, and that had been so long ago that she barely remembered it. “It’s over. And we still don’t know how I got here.” She was plainly trying to turn the conversation back to their purpose, and Elrond admired her persistence. “Or why.”

 

“I believe I may now have the answer we seek,” he replied softly. “I do not know the how, but the why is perhaps connected to the struggle all of Arda finds itself waging against the Shadow. One more warrior for the Light might not be enough; but I believe it is why you were brought to us at this time.” He retrieved a very old book from one of the shelves and opened it to a specific page. “I believe your purpose is to thwart the darkness’ plan in some way. That much is clear; but in what fashion is not yet known to me. Perhaps it is the healing of our warriors on the field, perhaps something more. I must study further.”

 

“You keep talking about this struggle, a fight against the darkness, the Shadow.” Amareth wanted some answers of her own, now. She’d answered all his questions, apparently to his satisfaction; now it was her turn. “I need to know what you’re talking about. If I’m going to be involved in this fight, I need to know what I’m fighting for.”

 

Elrond had hoped to avoid discussing the Ring, but he realized that in light of her confessions to him, he must return the favor. And if she was to somehow affect the balance, she should know why.

 

He began his narrative with the forging of the Rings of power, and of the secret making of the One Ring. He told her everything, right up to the moment the Fellowship left Rivendell, moving toward Mordor to destroy the Ring. “Even now, they journey toward Mount Doom, the only place the Ring may be unmade. And yet I fear evil is being drawn to the Ring even from within the company. One among them demonstrated a weakness for the Ring even before the decision was made to send it to the Fire. If they should fail…”

 

“Then Sauron wins the ball game and controls everything.” Amareth never considered that he might be making the whole thing up; the situation she had found herself in fit perfectly with what he had told her. “Not the best ending. Can’t some other effort be made? An assault on one or more of his fortresses, a diversion, to buy them some time? And why did you send this guy if you thought he was susceptible to the Ring’s influence?” Her head was beginning to hurt, but she had to help. Why else was she here?

 

“We have not the numbers to attack Sauron openly, not even were the Elves remaining in Middle Earth. Many have already sailed for Valinor; we few who are left are but a handful, not enough to challenge him. No, there must be another way.”

 

She heard the distress in his voice, deep under the effort he made to hide it from her. The situation was more desperate than he wanted her to believe. “We’ll think of something,” she said firmly. “Failure isn’t an option. Whatever happens, we’ll be ready.”

 

Elrond nodded his appreciation to her. “For now, you must learn as much as you can. Glorfindel will teach you the sword, and I will teach you our ways of healing. I think that you will prove a most apt student.” Another slight smile graced his features. “And you must not overreach your strength. If you tire while you are still healing, you are to rest. Are my instructions clear to you, Amareth?”

 

“Yes, sir,” she replied crisply. “Where do you want me to start?”

 

“For now, you will study most with Glorfindel. I will send for you this evening and we will visit the infirmary together, that I may see your methods of healing.” He turned his attention back to his studies and she fought the urge to salute him. It was as clear a dismissal as she had ever heard, so she turned and took her leave.

 


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving along.

“Pay attention, Amareth!” Glorfindel barked as he once more scored a hit with the practice sword. “You will have to do much better than this if you wish to fight.”

 

Amareth swore loudly as she danced back, holding her side. She had been in training for what seemed like weeks, and she was making little if any progress. She swung herself back into ready position, determined to get the better of him at least once during this session. So far, she hadn’t managed it.

 

Glorfindel came at her again, and she managed to block his strike but not to counter it. She held firm, muscles straining, and kept him from advancing or bringing his blade closer, and considered it a minor victory when he stepped back and saluted her. “That was much better. But an Orc will not fight fairly as I have done. You will have to do much better if you wish to stay alive.”

 

She nodded wearily. She knew she wasn’t progressing as quickly as he thought she should. “I’ll work on it,” she rasped as she heaved for breath. It wasn’t that she was out of condition; but the strength she needed for a sword was a lot different for what she had to have for a rifle. She still had the endurance and the conditioning, but it was in the wrong places. She felt like she was back in boot camp.

 

“Take some time to rest,” he said kindly. “You have been working very hard. Perhaps you might enjoy a walk in the gardens, or an evening in the Hall of Fire,” he suggested kindly.

 

“No time,” she replied as she stepped further back and hefted her sword again. “I need to master this, and I have evenings in the Infirmary with Lord Elrond.” She started to run through another practice set and he deliberately stepped in and blocked her blade.

 

“I have spoken with Lord Elrond, and he agrees with me. You have been working too hard. So, tonight is yours, to do with as you will.” He relieved her of the sword and handed it off to one of the other warriors who had been watching. “As long as it is a restful activity. Go, enjoy your evening.” He turned her toward the house and gave her a gentle shove forward.

 

He watched as she trudged toward the house, considering. She had already stood up to as much as many of his students, and she was no Elf. Her form was showing the intensity of her determination; no longer was there a spare ounce of flesh anywhere to be found upon her already slender frame. Neither was she thin; it was all sleek muscle, perfectly proportioned.

 

He shook his head. He had no business allowing his thoughts to wander down such a path. She was his student and his friend. However, he took great pleasure in bringing a blush to her cheeks and a laugh to her lips, and he did so often.

 

He pulled his mind back from useless conjecture and turned to his other students. But before he could draw a breath, the thunder of hooves approaching drew his attention and he spun to face the arrivals.

 

The troop he had sent south was returning, and all was not well. Elladan rode in the forefront, where he belonged, but the Elfling was badly injured. It didn’t take a practiced eye to see it, either; he held himself stiffly in the saddle and there was a great deal of blood on the saddle skirt. His left leg was held rigid, and there was a black feathered arrow shaft protruding from midway between his knee and hip. Many of the others were also sporting various wounds, but Elladan’s was the worst.

 

He sprang forward to help the young one, noticing as he did that his first estimate had been short of the mark: there wasn’t an unharmed Elf among them. It did not bode well for the Fellowship’s success; Elladan had been tracking them as far south as he dared.

 

He took Elladan into his arms to carry him into the Infirmary; the rest appeared to be at least capable of independent movement. Elladan seemed to have little if any strength left.

 

Erestor had summoned Elrond within moments of the troop’s arrival and he arrived in the Infirmary quickly, followed immediately by Amareth. She scurried to Elladan’s bedside and quickly took stock of the situation. “We can’t do anything else until we can get the point out,” she ground out. “And it looks like it’s in there pretty deep. He’s lost a lot of blood, too. We can’t wait long.” She looked up to Elrond for confirmation.

 

Elrond had cast his own practiced eye over the wound and nodded his agreement. “There will be much more bleeding once we remove the tip,” he murmured as he placed a gentle hand on his son’s brow. “We will need to work quickly.” He began to gather his healing magic as he stirred a draught for pain.

 

Amareth nodded and placed her hand over the shaft, gripping it firmly, and gave it a swift jerk to free it from the abused muscle. Elladan gave a strangled scream of pain as the point of the arrow came free, and then lapsed back into near unconsciousness. Thank the Mother it hadn’t nicked the artery or Elladan would already be dead! Her fingers went swiftly to the injury as it started to bleed again and as she touched the ragged edge of the puncture, she again felt that slight tingle of energy run through her. Was it magic? Could she heal him that way? She heard Elrond give a stifled sound of what might have been protest as she brushed his hands aside. There was no time to debate who should do the healing; Elladan was bleeding to death and she could stop it, she knew she could. She focused on the wound and felt the tissue begin to knit under her fingertips, and had to force herself not to squeal in surprise or wrench her hands from the Elf’s leg. She held that position until the skin had closed over the wound, heedless of the consternation with which she was being regarded by those present.

 

As she drew her hands away, she felt a wave of exhaustion crash through her and it took a supreme effort for her to remain upright. She stared at where the wound had been, not quite taking in the healthy cast of the flesh now in its place.

 

“Come, Amareth, you should rest,” Glorfindel murmured as he helped her to stand. “Elrond will care for his son now. You must rest.”

 

She nodded wearily and allowed him to support her out of the room, and then she collapsed against him, finally fully aware of what she had done. She had taken such a chance with Elladan’s life! What if she had been wrong? She could have killed him with the few seconds it took to make the decision, if it hadn’t worked. What was happening to her? She felt herself begin to shake and tears spilled over.

 

Glorfindel gathered her up and took her to her room, settling on the chaise with her in his lap, stroking her hair and crooning soft Elvish phrases to try and calm her. He had known that under her hard exterior, she was truly frightened of what had happened to her and what she had become. It touched his heart to see her so reduced by that fear, and he resolved to do whatever he could to lessen it.

 

He held her until she had fallen into an exhausted slumber and then placed her gently into her bed, covered her with a light blanket, and tucked a wayward strand of her hair back from her face. Then he returned to the Infirmary. Elladan would have a report for them when he woke, and he needed to hear it.

 


	7. Chapter 7

“It is hard to explain when I do not have Gandalf’s reasoning,” Elladan remarked quietly. “Nevertheless, the Fellowship has turned from their path. They have entered into Moria.”

 

“I cautioned Gandalf against such madness before they left,” Elrond said, his voice heavy. “I had no clear foresight, but I fear that once past the gates of Moria, he will not return. Let us hope that I am wrong.”

 

“You mustn’t blame yourself even if something does happen, Ada,” Elrohir said softly from the other side of the bed. “It cannot be laid at your door. Gandalf must have been hard-pressed to make such a choice; he would never have simply ignored your counsel.”

 

“Elrohir is correct, my lord,” Glorfindel stated as he stepped into the room. “All the Companions were aware they might not reach their destination, yet they chose to go full willing. You can be held accountable for them no longer.” He noticed Elrond’s arched brow. “I left her asleep. I judge she has taken no harm from her exercise, though she fears what she has become.”

 

“Ada?” Elladan’s voice was soft. “You have yet to explain what happened here. My leg is healed, completely. I had believed the wound to be much more severe than to be countered so quickly.”

 

Elrond took a deep breath. “Never in my wildest imaginings could I have perceived how powerful she is,” he said slowly. “I did not heal you, _ion nin_. Amareth did so, and with only a touch. And if she had not, you would surely have died. There was too much blood.” Only by sheer will had he held back his fear for his son. That Amareth had demonstrated such power awed him, and his gratitude was great. Still, he feared for them all, should Sauron regain the Ring. Even her power would not save them then.

 

“They entered Moria nearly a week past,” Elladan continued firmly, sensing his father’s discomfort and trying to deflect it. “They should be through to the other side, and near the refuge of Lothlorien. Galadriel would send word if there was cause for concern.”

 

Elrond nodded. “Indeed. Perhaps we may rest easy for a time. I cannot, however, dismiss this sense of urgency that has been making itself felt. Time is running short, but why I do not yet know. I must discover its origin.”

 

He rose, and with a final pat for Elladan’s hand, withdrew from the room. The twins regarded each other steadily, and Elladan rose. “I know that expression, brother. One of us should be on hand to be certain he does not overreach his own strength.”

 

Elrohir bowed his head in agreement, though he patently disapproved of his brother’s early departure from the Infirmary. He had seen Amareth’s miraculous healing of the wound, but he was still uncertain of whether or not the effects would be permanent. “You watch Ada, and I will watch over you. We cannot take chances, not now. War may still march upon our borders, even should the Ring be destroyed.”

 

“In which case we will be ready,” Glorfindel stated firmly. “Make certain your father does not overtax himself. I will order the defenses and set the watch. Have Erestor see to the household security. Rivendell will not fall to the Shadow, not while we have strength left to resist.” He stopped for only a moment in the doorway and half turned back to the twins. “And we must take extra precautions to see that Amareth is protected as well. We still do not know her purpose here; but her healing powers will be a tremendous asset. She cannot be lost to us.”

 

*****

 

Elrond wandered through the gardens, his fingers idly touching a flower, a leaf, a stalk, but not really considering his actions. He was lost in thought, desperately trying to understand why Gandalf had forsaken the very path he had proposed. Orcs had ambushed the patrol he had sent to track the Fellowship, and that should not be, either.

 

Once again he felt the horror of knowing his son was wounded so badly, that he had been so near death. The pain struck him again, like a dagger to his heart, and he nearly doubled over from it. That he would not have known…

 

Of course, he chided himself sternly. Fathers had lost sons without knowledge of their deaths since the dawn of time. That Elladan had been able to return home had given him an opportunity that many fathers had not had.

 

A mist began to creep over his vision and he sank onto the nearest bench. It would not do to fall in the dirt when it could be avoided.

 

Galadriel’s voice echoed within his head. “Gandalf the Grey has fallen into Shadow,” she said tonelessly. “The rest of the Company remains within Lothlorien, for a time. Yet we cannot long hold them from their purpose. Sauron is gathering all evil to him; the Ring *must* be destroyed, and quickly. I fear it has already begun to exert its influence within the Company. Boromir is beginning to show signs of surrendering to the Ring’s evil. I fear he will try to take it from Frodo.”

 

Elrond stiffened. This was disturbing news. That he had been so wrong about Boromir was galling to him. He had sensed such honor in the man, such valor; he could not have been so mistaken.

 

Swiftly he recounted the recent events to Galadriel. Everything, including Amareth’s miraculous healing of Elladan. He spared nothing from his narrative.

 

“If indeed this mortal woman is as you say, she will be a great asset against the Shadow. She will be needed; many warriors may be saved that might otherwise perish. Will you hold her back, when she is so desperately needed? Will you hold her in reserve, uncertain of need, at the expense of all who live?”

 

A decision was reached. He communicated his plans to her, stung by her questions, and yet understanding the necessity for them. The connection was broken, and he began to rise, only to feel another wave overtake him. This one was different, and yet just as familiar as the first.

 

The scene unfolded and he drew in a sharp breath. The Quest was in deadly peril, and it was as yet unknown to them. This must not be allowed to occur!

 

It faded and he slumped slightly, only to feel strong arms come around him from both sides to support him as he rose. “We have you, Ada. Come, we have strong tea for you and then you will tell us what you have seen.”

 

*****

 

“This Council is called for purposes of our defense.” Elrond’s voice was dry; he remembered all too clearly the last Council he had held. “This day, we prepare for war. The Enemy is moving. We must counter it.”

 

Glorfindel rose. “Our borders are secure, my lord. No evil will penetrate this valley, on my honor. We are as prepared as possible.”

 

“It is not this valley that concerns me at this time, Glorfindel. No, this is much more serious. The Fellowship remains in Lothlorien, but they will not stay there much longer. When they depart, there will be an attempt to take the Ring from Frodo. *This must not be allowed to happen.* The Ring *must* be destroyed.”

 

Silence. All eyes were upon him, and he resisted the urge to squirm. Six thousand years he had walked the world, and speaking with such authority still bothered him. How he wished there were someone to take the burden from him! “It would be selfish of the Elves to withhold such a valuable asset from the world.” His eyes fell upon Amareth, whom he had asked to attend, and then shifted back to the group as a whole. “Boromir will attempt to take the Ring. He will fail; but the delay will be enough to allow Saruman’s Uruk-hai to find them. The Fellowship will be broken, and yet all hope is not lost. Boromir will not surrender to this evil, not completely. He will come to his senses and regret his actions, and the Ring will no longer be able to sway him. He will defend the Hobbits until his dying breath; but I cannot see which Hobbits he is defending. We must be certain it is not Frodo, for the Halflings will be taken by the Uruks.”

 

“They are far to the south, many days’ journey from here. Will they remain in Lorien long enough for us to reach them?” Elladan chimed in. “And you have said that Gandalf has fallen. What hope now truly remains?”

 

“So long as the Ring remains safely with Frodo, there is hope,” Elrond countered swiftly. “There is still time. We may perhaps buy more.”

 

“How?” Elrohir was incredulous. “With Gandalf lost, hope fades quickly.”

 

“I propose a small contingent to rendezvous with what remains of the Fellowship. All hope of secrecy has been lost; it will become a race to see if the Ring may be destroyed before Sauron destroys the world of Men. And war may yet march upon our own borders; we cannot leave the valley undefended. No, I suggest a messenger to warn the Company of their peril, and perhaps an escort for this messenger. They must travel swiftly, and remain unseen. Amareth?”

 

She had risen, her face expressionless and stark. “I’ll go. If there’s going to be fighting, I’ll be needed. That’s what I do, I put people back together when war tears them apart.” She kept her gaze fixed on Elrond, though she knew the others were regarding her with some concern. “If there’s a chance I can save even one of them, I have to go.”

 

“You cannot yet wield a sword, how will you defend yourself if the Uruk-hai find you?” Glorfindel objected quickly. “Against sword and bow, there is little your unarmed training will accomplish.”

 

“I don’t know where I’m going, either, but I’m still volunteering,” she shot back smoothly. “I have to do this. It’s what I was trained to do, to be on the front lines, to heal those I could. If I can save just one life, it’s worth risking my own.”

 

“Glorfindel is correct; your training will not save you. Yet I see also your need to do this, to heal what harm has been done.” Elrond held her gaze, assessing. “I cannot see into your future,” he said slowly, “so I cannot know if this is why you were sent to us. I believe, however, that we must no longer hold you safe here in Imladris. You will be needed, and soon. War marches on all lands. We must put all our forces into play, even you.”

 

Amareth nodded and took her seat, pointedly avoiding Glorfindel’s eye. She knew she was no good with a sword; but she *could* help the wounded, and from the way Elrond sounded, there could be a lot of them. She practically *itched* to get to work. And quite simply, it stung to have her shortcomings aired like dirty laundry.

 

“She has demonstrated a phenomenal ability to heal. There will be great need for this, of course.” Elrond regarded her steadily, and then included Glorfindel in his gaze. “I believe she *must* go. Men may be weak, and Boromir may fall to the Shadow for a time; but such a noble spirit should not be lost. I cannot see more than I have already revealed; and yet there is a sense that perhaps Boromir may be an important piece of this struggle. He should not be lost.”

 

Glorfindel hated seeing Amareth angry with him, but the truth had to be told. She was not ready. And he did not wish to be responsible for her death in any fashion. “Valar, my lord, she cannot even sit a horse unaided! This is madness! Would you send her to her death so easily?”

 

“Be at ease, _mellon-nin,_ ” Elrond replied softly. “I do not propose sending her alone. Yet neither do I intend to organize a large expedition. It is my considered opinion that a minimal number of messengers will attract a minimal amount of attention.”

 

His eyes swept the Council again. “The swiftest passage to Lothlorien is by water. A small ship is being prepared as we speak; all that remains is to decide upon Amareth’s escort, for as Glorfindel states, she cannot go alone. She would be easy prey for the Uruk-hai.”

 

Elladan rose to speak. “I will go, if for no other reason than this: Amareth saved my life. It is only just that I protect hers.”

 

“And where my brother goes, I shall as well.” Elrohir’s voice was as strong as his twin’s, his face as determined. “How many shall accompany us?”

 

“The need for secrecy is still great. Three travelers will draw little attention; and three shall journey faster than eight. You shall leave at dusk. And may the grace of the Valar protect you all.”

 

Elrond watched as the young ones departed to ready themselves, his heart heavy at what he was asking of them. “Glorfindel, please stay.” He had noted the worried gaze his warrior was giving the doorway. “What troubles you, _mellon-nin?_ She will be well protected. You trained them yourself and have had nothing but praise for their prowess. Or is it something worse that you fear?”

 

“I am sworn to protect you, Elrond, and to that I will hold,” Glorfindel said slowly. “I know we are well defended here, and that we have no lack of warriors. And yet I must confess to some disturbance over your choice of escorts.”

 

Elrond merely raised that sculpted eyebrow. “Indeed? And do you fear for her safety or that of my sons?”

 

Glorfindel’s eyes widened slightly but that was all the indication he gave of his distress. “For all three, in actuality. Amareth is my friend, and the twins as dear to me as my own. I understand the necessity. Now I must accept it.”

 

Elrond sat down heavily, all semblance of self-possession erased. Glorfindel was his oldest friend; there was no more need for pretense. “As I must accept it,” he said softly. “Estel is not my son, and yet I love him thus. And still I sent him on this… quest hardly seems to describe the immensity of the undertaking. I have foresight, and yet it seems tainted because I cannot accept what it shows me. In one path, I see him restored to the world of Men, see him righting the wrongs perpetuated by Isildur. And yet another path shows him to me, broken and lifeless among the desolation of Mordor. And I cannot see which path is the true.” He regarded Glorfindel with haunted eyes. “And the sons of my body, all I have left of Celebrian… they wish to do their part to thwart the Shadow, and who can fault them for such a noble purpose? Yet when they announced their decision to accompany Amareth, I felt a chill such as I have not felt in an age. And now they, too, are lost to my sight. I can no longer see into their futures.”

 

“And what of Arwen?” Glorfindel queried softly. “Elladan and Elrohir are not the only children of you and Celebrian. What fate will you choose for your daughter?

 

“Arwen *must* take the ship. She *must* be safe. I will accept nothing else for her. She will carry her love for Estel across the Sea, there to remain always true and ever green. She will be safe, when all here falls into ruin. Whether it happens now, or an age from now, the world will break, and all will fail. I will not leave her here to die.”

 

“And if she chooses to remain, will you force her aboard ship? Mellon-nin, her love for him is as great as yours for her mother. If she chooses to stay with Estel, with Aragorn, will you force her away?”

 

Elrond lowered his eyes quickly, but not before the Balrog Slayer had seen the depth of the turmoil in his friend’s spirit. “Then I must do as she wishes, for what father would not? I am not cruel, Fin, but I would make her see all the possibilities that she might make the right choice. And though it break my heart, she will choose as she wills.” He rose then, his distress once more veiled from sight. “Come, we must be certain everything is in readiness for the journey.”

 


End file.
